


perihelion

by reversetheuniverse



Series: betwixt and between [2]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M, a series of ficlets based around my fic 'stars align'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-18 04:04:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11283381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reversetheuniverse/pseuds/reversetheuniverse
Summary: (noun.)the point in the orbit of a planet, asteroid, or comet at which it is closest to the sun.





	1. she's so high above me

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!
> 
> So I've been meaning to post this for a while, but summer came and I just took a short break from fic writing altogether, but hopefully that's over for now and I can start updating stuff like this for you guys!!
> 
> This is my series of ficlets centered before/after/during my other fic 'stars align', and I'll put a little summary before each chapter to let you know what it's about. Anyway, thank you to all of you that read 'stars align', enjoyed it, and/or encouraged me to continue with it! Your feedback is always welcome, and very much appreciated :)
> 
>  
> 
> [ch. 1 is aunofficial prologue to 'stars align']
> 
> //
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> **To him, she hung the stars and the moon, and he wouldn’t look at her any other way. He just hopes that maybe, someday, she’ll notice him all the same.**  
> 

Sometimes Mon-El forgets that Kara is merely flesh and bone and not the universe itself, bright and full of endless wonder.

Is this love? Never has he once before experienced anything like it. On Daxam, contact was rushed and quick, like the flickering of a flame from a lighter. Marriages were arranged, and although you were mated for life, the choice was never one’s own. During their free years, Daxamites would partake in as much sensual activity as possible so they could experience the world before it was chosen for them.

As a prince, Mon-El was given an extended period of time for exploring sexual freedom. There was no real reason for him not to—he didn’t need a spouse until he ascended the throne. He used his time well, and never once did he regret the decisions he made.

 

Until he met Kara.

 

He always knew there were such things as “soulmates”, people bound together by some divine interference or destiny. Only few people he knew had encountered such luck in life through their arranged mating, but otherwise the notion proved preposterous to him.

Love was for fools. It was never second nature to expect yourself to end up with any one person you had sex with. Life just never worked out that way on Daxam.

Earth, however, is different.

Here, people choose their own mates. Love is not dead, it is thriving and well, and people seek it out every day of their lives. It’s such a fresh and new concept to Mon-El, and as time passes on, he comes to appreciate it more and more. But then he realizes that both parties must share the same sort of affection, or the choice becomes null and void.

You can’t force someone to fall in love with you, after all.

And he would never _dare_. Mon-El knows that each person has a right to their own choices, and if Kara were to look him in the eyes and confess that she didn’t like him the same way he liked her, he wouldn’t pursue her. It would hurt, of course, but he’d understand.

How could he ever compare to this girl, be _worthy_ of her? She’s what they call, “out of his league”. She may walk on this earth, but she’s so far out of Mon-El’s reach, floating amongst the shimmering stars in the night sky. Her eyes are other-worldly, like the bluest of comets that he would watch streak across Daxam’s sky as a young boy, and to look at her is to blind himself at the sight of the sun.

To him, she hung the stars and the moon, and he wouldn’t look at her any other way. He just hopes that maybe, someday, she’ll notice him all the same.

Sometimes Mon-El thinks that her heart does hold the same weight as his, and he’ll notice a spark of care and admiration in her eyes. A hint of something that he can’t quite place, something that only lasts barely a second. But he’s not been one to read people well ever, not even on Earth, and he dismisses it as a figment of his imagination, a fabrication of his willful mind.

To think that Kara Zor-El would ever think of him as any less of a nuisance is laughable. All he is to her is another weight added to her shoulders or a pest nipping at her skin. She never had the choice to take him under her wing, really, so why would her choice be him as her mate?  

And then the question of his identity, the one he left behind—the one that _died_ —on Daxam? If he told her, would she think of him the same way as she does now? Would her mind be made up on him entirely after she uncovered the truth? That he was not the man she thought he was, but much, _much_ worse?

He can’t imagine how she’d view him then.

 

Almost as it was on Daxam, love truly, irrevocably . . .

_Sucks._


	2. the sound of settling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn’t want to put a name to it really. She suspects that she knows what she’s feeling well in the pit of her stomach, the way her heart practically leaps at the thought of spending time with him, but she misplaces the feeling as an overwhelming need for his friendship. 
> 
> Yeah, she wants to be friends with him! That’s why she’s always dying to spend time with him, why she jumps at the chance to hang out with him, even if it’s with Winn and James or just the two of them by themselves. 
> 
> And if she happens to put on a little makeup and one of her nicer outfits for her evening in with her _just-a-friend_ , then she doesn’t acknowledge it aloud.

Moving day approaches around the corner quickly, and although there isn’t really much to move besides a couple boxes worth of shirts and a few other small effects, Kara’s still there to help Mon-El move in. She promised to herself that she’d be amicable about this whole move, especially since he’s become impossibly intertwined into her life with no possible way of getting out.

 

. . . Not that she minds.

 

“Where do you want me to set this?” Kara asks as they enter his new threshold, a place all his own. Mon-El grins, his gray eyes bright and clearer than ever.

“Go ahead and set it in the closet in the bedroom. _My_ closet,” he says giddily, unable to contain his excitement from having his own home.

Kara understands that bubbly feeling one-hundred percent. She recalls exactly what it felt like when she bought her first apartment, the one she had before her current place of residence. Something about being your own person, controlling your own life, just feels . . . _right._

They spend the rest of the day adjusting furniture and giving Mon-El’s place a real “home-y” feel, and Kara can’t deny that she’s had a fun time spending the day with him. He hands her his spare key as she prepares to leave (“Mrs. Needleberg gave me a copy and told me to keep it somewhere safe, so my first thought was to leave it with you,” Mon-El tells her, causing her to turn a million different shades of red), and Kara thinks that maybe, just _maybe_ , things won’t be so bad.

But then she’s not entirely sure Mon-El is _truly_ ready to be his own person yet when he spends the entire month driving her crazy.

Sure, he’s become accustomed to a lot of Earth’s practices and culture, but why did they think leaving an alien on his own for the first time without explaining the real basics of damn near everything would be okay?!

 

So far, Kara’s had to deal with:

 

  1. Five kitchen fires (after the fifth one, she just told him to ask her if he needed anything cooked on the stove or in the oven)
  2. Three fake emergencies (he’s never had to deal with birds chirping in the morning before and the sound of the plumbing, plus he nearly had a heart attack when the fire alarm batteries needed to be replaced)
  3. A couple of mishaps with the washer (he dumped the _entire bottle_ of laundry detergent in a load of three shirts!!!)



 

And

 

  1. Several noise ordinances (not for gross reasons, but purely because the man doesn’t know appropriate times to play music at a certain volume).



 

Needless to say, it’s been an adventure all on its own.

 

Kara has to give Mon-El credit, though. Once he’s made it past one month of living on his own, he’s really gotten the hang of “call for takeout because you truly suck at cooking”. The nearby Chinese place is on speed dial on his phone, right below Kara. She’s flattered that she comes before a takeout restaurant.

But even then so, he’s trying his best. He’s minimized the number of emergencies he calls for (both stove and personal related things), he’s gone through washing his clothes successfully the last couple of rounds, and he’s finally adjusted to all the little quirks city life has to offer. No more three-in-the-morning phone calls for Kara!

To celebrate his first month of being in the apartment, he invites Kara over for food (potstickers, of course) and a couple of movies, and Kara couldn’t be more happy to oblige.

There’s also the small bit of . . . _something_ she’s dealing with that urges her to go, as well.

She doesn’t want to put a name to it really. She suspects that she knows what she’s feeling well in the pit of her stomach, the way her heart practically leaps at the thought of spending time with him, but she misplaces the feeling as an overwhelming need for his friendship.

Yeah, she wants to be friends with him! That’s why she’s always dying to spend time with him, why she jumps at the chance to hang out with him, even if it’s with Winn and James or just the two of them by themselves.

And if she happens to put on a little makeup and one of her nicer outfits for her evening in with her _just-a-friend_ , then she doesn’t acknowledge it aloud.

Kara arrives at precisely the time Mon-El asked her over (they are neighbors, making travel easy, and punctuality is one of her favorite things), knocking on the door even though she has a key to his place. Her foot taps rapidly on the ground as she waits for him to answer, and she doesn’t know why.

This is just Mon-El, after all. She shouldn’t get all worked up over something she’d do any day anyway, and has several times before.

But for some reason, this is different. It’s not just her dropping by into his apartment or vice versa for a quick chat or something. It’s almost like a . . .

Kara doesn’t entertain that thought. She’s just here to celebrate with a friend, nothing more, nothing less.

“Hey, Kara! On time as ever, I see,” Mon-El teases her lightheartedly after the door swings open. “Come on in.”

Kara obliges, entering inside his apartment, almost giggling at all the streamers and balloons he’s put up inside his house. He must be taking this whole “celebrating” thing seriously.

“Nice decorations,” she smiles at him, gesturing to the party paraphernalia.

“Yeah, I got excited,” he blushes, a lopsided smirk gracing his face. “There’s party hats to go with it, too.” He hands her one, watching as she puts it on.

“I’m going to have to go all out for your one year anniversary of being on earth, aren’t I?” she asks him amused. Mon-El’s eyes light up, excitement in his gaze.

“Yes!” he exclaims, and Kara snorts, shaking her head at him.

His child-like wonder never ceases to amaze her.

“Alright, where are the potstickers? I’m ready to get my party on,” she says, taking a seat on his couch.

“They’re on their way. I had just ordered them before you came over,” he tells her. Kara pouts.

“I was hoping they’d be here when I got here.” Mon-El shrugs, tugging lightly at Kara’s hair when he sits down next to her.

“Well you can’t have everything your way, can you, Supergirl?” Kara slaps his hand away playfully.

“Alright, alright. Let’s start a movie at the very least while we wait. What were you thinking?” Mon-El leans forward, pulling a stack of DVDs off the coffee table and skimming through them.

“So I got some DVDs from everyone at the DEO. These are the ones Winn said I should watch,” Mon-El says, handing her several sci-fi movies (naturally), “These are the ones Alex said I should watch,” he gives her three DVDs, all action movies courtesy of her sister, “And these are all from J’onn,” he gives up the remaining DVDs, which are all romantic movies. Kara narrows her eyes at them, her mouth quirking to the side.

She’s not sure what J’onn is playing at, whether he truly likes romantic movies or is just trying to infer something, but she supposes she can let it slide for tonight. Kara _does_ actually like romantic movies, anyway.

“How does _When Harry Met Sally_ sound to you? This is one of my favorites,” Kara offers. Mon-El nods his head.

“Sounds fine to me! Whatever you’d like, Kara.” The doorbell rings after that, and Mon-El jumps up from the couch. “The potstickers! Mind putting in the DVD while I go pay?” he asks her.

“Sure thing,” Kara answers, getting up to put the movie in while he takes care of the food. Once it’s in, she sits back down on the couch and Mon-El joins her, handing over one of the several packages of potstickers he ordered.

“I’m so glad we live next to a Chinese restaurant,” he tells her, inhaling the scent of fresh potstickers.

“Me too,” she agrees, hungrily tearing open the container and taking out a potsticker, plopping it into her mouth. She hands the container back over to Mon-El and he does the same.

“Let’s start the movie!” he mumbles through a mouthful of food, picking up the remote to press ‘play’.

Honestly, Kara doesn’t think she could’ve gone wrong in picking out a movie, because she’s seen the same look on Mon-El every time he watches one—intense concentration, a furrowed brow, mouth in a thin line. He always leans forward a little in his seat, too, as if he’s not close enough to capture every detail of the movie. She appreciates his willingness to participate in all of earth culture, even feeling a bit excited at everything she’s already come to know when she’s with him. It’s a refreshing new perspective on life, to say the least.

He does move at one point, if only to open up the container of sugar doughnuts he ordered along with the potstickers, but as soon as he has one in hand his concentration is back on the television, soaking in all he can from _When Harry Met Sally_. Kara refrains from laughing at his adorable, alien nature and takes one herself, relishing in the dessert as she returns her own gaze back to the movie.

It’s when he starts commenting on the movie that Kara’s attention is completely diverted once again.

“I don’t understand,” he begins, his brow still scrunched together, this time out of pure confusion. “Harry obviously loves Sally, and they’re really good for each other. Why doesn’t he admit to it?”

“Maybe he’s scared,” Kara says quietly.

“Scared of what?” he looks at her, and she feels her throat go dry.

“Scared that he might ruin what they have because they’re so close.”

“But if he loves her, then wouldn’t he _want_ to risk that?” Kara shrugs.

“Maybe the cost of friendship is too high. He’s afraid that if he gets into a relationship with her and it fails, then he’ll lose the best part of his life in the process.”

“I thought life was about taking risks?” he asks her, his gaze dead-set on her when he says it, almost shaking her to the core. Kara has no response to that, but her eyes never drift away from his. She watches as his own eyes flicker down to her mouth, and she feels herself go stiff in her seat. He reaches out with his hand, and she flinches a bit when his thumb meets the corner of her mouth, swiping at it.

“Sorry, there was sugar on the corner of your mouth,” he tells her softly.

“That’s okay,” she replies, her own voice barely a whisper, her heart pounding like a snare drum in her chest. After that he hesitates, his eyes still on her lips as if he’s contemplating something, and Kara waits to see what happens. She expects him to make a move of some sort, to lean in and kiss her or something, and the funny thing is—

She doesn’t want to move.

Kara almost sort of _wants_ him to kiss her, just to see how she might feel about it afterward, but it never comes. His hand drops from her face and he turns back towards the movie, engrossed in it once again as if nothing had ever happened. Kara sighs, her mind spinning, dizzy with racing thoughts.

And when she’s back in her own bed later that night, just for that night, she entertains the thought of her and Mon-El being together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Sorry about this chapter taking me forever. In all honesty, I've just been really lazy this summer and haven't really worked on any fanfics for quite a while, and only just now started to work on some while I've got like nine days before I return back to college again. Priorities, am I right??
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is a prequel to the second chapter of 'stars align', set right after Mon-El moves into his new home. I wanted to explore Mon-El being Kara's crazy neighbor, but then her also dealing with her feelings for him a bit, still not quite able to come to terms with them, but at least recognizing them a bit.
> 
> The third chapter will be on it's way as soon as possible, and let me know if there's something from the fic that you might want me to write about, and I'll take it into account! :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> (p.s. the song title is from the song 'the sound of settling' by death cab for cutie)


	3. if you love me, give me nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been gone for a long while. Sorry about that! I finally decided to update this fic because I've had this chapter done for a really long time and decided only now that I wanted to post it. After reading a bunch of Karamel fics, I'm really back into it. I just freaking love them unabashedly and unapologetically! I'm not sure if I'm going to continue writing for this fic, but I also was fairly convinced I wasn't going to be writing for this pair again really and I've already started back up on writing another Karamel fic I started awhile ago, so we'll see :)
> 
> Anyway, this is a post stars align chapter, set a bit after the ending. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Mon-El and Kara decide to keep their relationship in the dark, just for a bit. Of course, “just a bit” turns out to be one whole day, especially after Alex catches them making out in a supply closet at the DEO the next afternoon after an intense sparring session. She insists that they tell J’onn, namely because of technicalities—they both work underneath the DEO, so that means that they are coworkers who are _dating_.

They have to file paperwork because of a conflict of interest.

Mon-El doesn’t mind as much as Kara does about the whole situation—if filing paperwork is the only roadblock keeping them from continuing their relationship, then he’s on board. Kara’s mostly just embarrassed from being caught in a steamy makeout session with him.

After that, it’s all kosher from there on out.

He likes that he can take her out to fancy restaurants when he saves up enough, that they can cuddle up next to each other on the couch and watch shows for hours on end (his favorite is one called _Game of Thrones_ ). He loves being able to notice things about her that he couldn’t from far away before, like the freckles that lightly dust the crest of her cheeks or the slight indentation on the bridge of her nose from her glasses after she’s removed them. 

Life is good, great even, and Mon-El really believes that he can start calling Earth his true home now, without a trace of doubt.

But then.

But then he’s wrenched right out of the comfortable bubble he’s created a few weeks later. J’onn visits him after he’s finished his shift for the night, waiting for him patiently in the alleyway beside the bar. He’s got this serious look on his face, different from the one he usually adorns (Mon-El’s become fairly decent at telling them apart by now), and Mon-El feels the earth stand still beneath his feet.

“J’onn?” he asks, his hands finding their way into the pockets of his leather jacket. J’onn lurches forward from his perch against the brick wall of the bar, nodding his head once in greeting.

“Hello, Mon-El,” J’onn says. “We need to talk.”

Mon-El gulps. Nothing good has ever come from those four words.

“About?”

“About you lying to Kara. I kept myself from intruding upon your business for quite some time, but now that you two are involved, I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you an ultimatum. I promised Jeremiah I would keep Kara and Alex safe, and that’s a promise I intend to keep. And right now, you lying to Kara is keeping her from being safe.” 

“What? When have I ever lied to Kara? I would never—” Mon-El attempts to rebut, but J’onn cuts him off.

“You are the Prince of Daxam,” he says plainly, and immediately any further argument Mon-El has stops dead in its tracks.

“Correction, _was_ ,” Mon-El mutters, his eyes cast to the ground. 

“You need to tell her,” J’onn warns, “Or I will. And I think you can agree with me when I say that hearing the truth about something from someone else can hurt even worse. So what’ll it be, Mon-El?” 

J’onn is right. 

As much as Mon-El loathes to admit it J’onn is right, and he has to tell Kara before she finds out from someone other than himself.

Mon-El just wishes he didn’t, because he’s almost _certain_ that Kara won’t want him after she learns his truth. 

“I-I’ll do it,” Mon-El says dejectedly with a sigh. “I’ll do it tonight. I’ll go right now and tell her. You’re right in saying she deserves the truth. I’m sorry, J’onn.” He can tell J’onn pities him at least a little, because he does know his whole truth—he’d rather die than hurt Kara. But he also knows it needs to be done, because Mon-El owes her that at the very least.

“Don’t apologize to me. I’m not the one who you’ve kept in the dark,” J’onn tells him. Mon-El gives him one final nod before stalking off down the alleyway back into the dimly lit sidewalks of National City with a heavy heart.

 

//

 

His knuckles hover inches from the door for a good minute before Kara hears his presence, her heightened senses in tune with the world around her. Right as he raps his fist on the door it swings open, her bluer-than-blue eyes staring up at him, the curve of her cheeks dusted a light rose.

“Mon-El? What are you doing just hanging around out here? You know you’re more than welcome to come in!” she greets him, pushing herself onto her tiptoes to press a chaste peck to his lips. She leans back when she notices hesitation from his end, her forehead crinkling. “Is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Can I just . . . can we talk for a second?” Mon-El asks her. She nods, grabbing his hand and guiding him inside her apartment gently. Kara shuts the door after, walking up to him to face him, worry etched into her face.

“What did you want to talk about?” He sighs, casting his eyes to the side, unable to meet her piercing gaze.

“I . . . sit down?” 

“ _Mon-El,_ ” she warns lightly, urging him to get to the point. He scratches the back of his neck, his teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek.

“Right, sorry. I . . . I haven’t been completely honest with you, Kara.” She tilts her head, confused.

“What?”

“Kara, I’m . . . I’m the prince of Daxam. I’m Mon-El of the House of Gand, prince of Daxam.” She blinks once, then twice, her mouth opening and closing in search of words.

“. . . What? You told me you were their guard,” Kara says slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were the prince instead?”

“I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t think it mattered—”

“You didn’t think it _mattered_?” Her voice cuts through his like a serrated knife, drawing his attention directly to her glaring eyes. 

“Kara, I—”

“No, I’m just trying to process this all, Mon-El. Because not only did you lie to me, but you had me believing I could _trust_ you, when after all it’s just been a big _lie_ ,” she grits her teeth, her nostrils flaring.

“I never lied to you about anything other than who I was!” he exclaims, realizing too late his poor choice of words. “I mean about who I was before I came to Earth. The prince of Daxam died with his planet.”

“No, he _didn’t_. You don’t just get to choose to abandon who you are because your planet died, Mon-El!”

“Kara, would you have talked to me if I told you from the very beginning who I was? Would you have been able to get past the fact that I was not only a Daxamite, but I was the crowned prince of the so called ‘planet of frat boys’?”

“Oh no, you do _not_ get to turn this on me! This is about you lying to me! I mean, it’s one thing to tell a lie about something insignificant as where you were, but _who_ you were? Who you _are_?” Mon-El takes a moment to calm himself down, inhaling and exhaling deeply before continuing.

“You know who I am, Kara. I didn’t want to tell you who I was because I . . . because I _hated_ who I was on Daxam. I hated that I didn’t get to choose my own life, I hated that I had to agree to everything without a second thought, and I hated that I didn’t give a single damn about myself! When I came to Earth and learned that Daxam was gone, I saw the doors opening to a new life for me. _You_ showed me that, showed me the person I _could_ be, not the person I was _supposed_ to be. You let me see that I didn’t have to sit by idly anymore, that I could finally decide for myself. You’ve inspired me to change for the better, Kara. Just _please_ , give me a chance to prove to you that I’m worth your time.”

Kara’s quiet for a long moment, so deadly silent that Mon-El’s afraid that she’s resigned to never talking to him again. But then she finds her words again, and with lips pressed into a thin line and arms drawn tightly against her chest, she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper,

“ _Just go. We’re done._ ”

It’s almost worse, hearing her words, and they’re like a sucker punch to the gut or a dagger to the heart, but Mon-El knows he can’t change her mind. He turns his back on her without another word or glance, and as soon as he’s exited her apartment, the door slides shut on his life with her, both physically and metaphorically.

He just hopes that she’ll allow him back into her life someday.

 

//

 

His chest is hollow, pitted out like someone took to it viciously with a melon baller. He hasn’t returned to his own apartment in the three days since they broke it off, unable to face the possibility of seeing Kara. Mon-El’s fully aware that they’ll run into each other again soon, if not today, but for now he’s banking on the safety of the bar and Winn feeding him some small emergencies to take care of as Valor. He’s not entirely sure he wanted Winn’s pity, or especially deserved it, but if it keeps him out of Kara’s hair, then he can deal.

Rao, what a fucking mess.

Mon-El shouldn’t complain. He’s the one who lied, the one who didn’t admit to Kara the truth from the get-go. If anything, it’s all his fault, and he’s getting what he deserves. 

But knowing that doesn’t make the hole in his heart any less.

It’s all new to him—love is—and this is sincerely the first actual break up he’s had. The closest thing he had before was his brief engagement with a princess from a nearby planet back when he lived on Daxam, but even then, he knew it wasn’t meant to last.

With Kara, he was _positive_ she was his end-all-be-all. He’s never felt a stronger tie to anyone in his entire _life_ , not even his own kin, and so enduring the heartbreak is unlike any injury he’s come to suffer. What’s worse, he’s scared that he’ll go living the rest of his life without being at least a _part_ of Kara’s life, and Mon-El doesn’t think he can handle that.

“Buddy, you really gotta lay off these ales if you want me to give you more jobs to do.”

Winn comes into sight, sliding onto the barstool next to him and placing a hand over Mon-El’s glass. Mon-El gives him a half-hearted shrug, pushing the drink to the side, not even bothering to fight him on it.

“Whoa, Kara really did a number on you,” Winn mutters. Mon-El raises a brow, unamused.

“You really think so?” Winn’s eyes flash that same pity he gave him when he told him how he and Kara were over. Mon-El’s getting pretty sick of it, to be honest.

“I know, I know. I’m just trying to lighten the mood. Have you talked to her since the other night?” Mon-El shakes his head, propping his crossed arms on top of the bar.

“Nope. I think she made it clear when she said she was done. I’m not going to bother her anymore.”

“Really? That’s it?” Winn asks, incredulous. “Wow, then maybe she was right in dumping you. You’re not even going to fight for her.”

“Well what am I supposed to do, Winn? Apologize again and again and again for being a big jackass? I think she’s had enough of my apologies and lying for one lifetime.” Winn sighs, tapping his fingers on the polished wood of the bar. The working bartender nods and slides him a drink, his usual—a margarita on the rocks, alien style.

“I can only help you so much, Mon-El. Maybe it’s time you tried to help yourself a little. This  breakup can be good for you! I know it’s not fun and it hurts like hell, but maybe this is something you needed and didn’t know it. Just take the time to spend with yourself. Then, when you’re ready, get off your stupid ass, march up to her door, and tell her how you really feel.”

Maybe Winn has a point. Maybe he _does_ need to use this time to reevaluate things, to reevaluate _himself_ , and see what he needs to do to fix things. And even if he doesn’t get back with Kara, then so what? Sure, he loves her more than anything, but he’ll get through this. That’s the number one thing Earth has taught him—

The things that don’t murder you give you strength.

. . . Or something of that ilk. 

“Thanks, Winn,” Mon-El says, sliding a ten dollar bill onto the counter and abandoning both his drink and friend. As he pushes through the door to leave, Winn shouts,

“Take a shower ya lousy Daxamite! You still smell like that fire you put out yesterday afternoon!” Mon-El chuckles softly at him, shaking his head as he shuts the door to the bar behind him.

If there’s one thing (out the of the many, _numerous_ things) he can thank Winn for, it’s being a great friend. 

Great enough to give him a little hope that things might change for the better.

 

//

 

After a week of dodging her presence completely, Mon-El finally faces Kara. 

Thankfully for him, it’s as a superhero duo—things are much easier to keep under wraps when he’s maintaining a different persona. They have to save face for the sake of the city and for the sake of keeping an amicable state between the two superheroes. If they bring their personal life into light, then things start to get messy.

Unfortunately for him, he’s still reduced to a bumbling wreck when he meets her gaze again.

Those comet-blue eyes are piercing as ever, her mouth drawn into a thin line (when isn’t it?) He notices a sense of self-conflict still apparent in her stare, her mouth gaping open and shutting once again when she can’t find the proper words for the situation. Instead, she shifts her attention back towards the problem at hand—yet another kitchen fire, courtesy of an old man who forgot he had the stove on and let the perogies he was frying burn.

Kara gestures with her head towards the people standing outside the building already, her silent way of saying, _“Check the building for more_. _”_ Mon-El nods and races inside while Kara attends to the fire itself, assisting the surrounding firemen in quelling the tenacious flames. 

It doesn’t take him long to hear the person on the hall of the second floor still asleep ( _how???_ ), or the dog left on the fourth floor, and last but not least the tiny hamster still locked away in its cage on the sixth. Mon-El retrieves the human first, not wasting a moment to wake them up and instead just carry them quickly out of the building. He sprints back inside and retrieves the dog and the hamster soon after, and when he’s exited the apartment complex, Kara’s already finishing up extinguishing the fire. With one last breath she douses the flames, and everyone below her claps for her heroic deed, even Mon-El himself.

What can he say? She still amazes him, each and every time.

Afterward, they spend the next thirty minutes conversing with the people of the building, and while he’s exhausted from the draining mood he’s been in combined with the fire rescue, there’s nothing Mon-El loves more than talking to the people he helps. 

He chats with the old man who started the fire—Gregory Malone—and promises to find him an assistant to watch over him. The owner of the dog thanks him by pressing a million kisses to his face (with Kara peering at him from the corner of her eyes). The little girl whose hamster he saved gives him a big hug, gushing over how happy she is that he rescued Mister Dorito Butterscotch III (the hamster, of course) and how excited she is to meet her new favorite hero.

When the crowd has dispersed to talk to the policemen that have arrived on the scene, Mon-El watches Kara sidle up next to him slowly, uncertainty still clinging to her being.

“Good job, Valor, as always,” she compliments him half-heartedly, but Mon-El doesn’t mind. He knows their shtick well enough by now.

“Same goes to you, Supergirl.” 

Silence quickly fills the space between them, but Mon-El’s not about to ditch just because he can’t handle the painful throb in his heart that occurs every time he hears the name “Supergirl” or sees her floating image on the television announcing another daring deed she’s accomplished. 

He’s better than that. 

“Hey . . .” Mon-El begins, scratching nervously at the nape of his neck. Kara remains rigid and in place, and his fight or flight responses are really testing him, but she tugs him back with just a simple few words.

“C’mon, Valor. Let’s just go back to my place and talk.”

Talk? He’s never been more blessed in his entire _life_.

 

//

 

A peaceful lull rests between them as Mon-El waits idly on the couch, twiddling his thumbs nervously. The crimson tea kettle on the stove begins to wail, steam billowing from the tiny hole on its spout. Kara removes it from heat instantly, pouring the boiling water into the two mugs resting on the counter, each one with a little tea bag nestled inside—Chamomile for Kara and Jasmine for Mon-El.

She joins him on the couch a minute later, settling the warm mugs onto the coffee table, dusting off her pants once she’s sat down. Mon-El represses a snort, only for the fact that he’s not sure whether they are amicable or not yet.

Kara’s still very much Kryptonian. You can take the girl out of Krypton, but you can’t take Krypton out of the girl.

“Jasmine okay?” she asks him as if they’d not been on speaking terms for longer than a week. Mon-El nods, trying his best to tamper down the sting of pain coursing through his heart. He can’t let his feelings get the best of him, not just yet.

“Yeah, of course,” he says instead, taking a careful sip of the hot tea resting in the mug she’s given him. She waits for him to take another couple drinks before pressing him with more questions.

“So, how have you been?” Mon-El casts her a side glance as he settles the mug back onto the table.

“ _Terrible_ , Kara. You know I’ve been awful. I’m not very good at hiding it.” He notices her drop her gaze to the side, a slight blush crawling on her cheeks out of pure embarrassment.

“Of course, I’m sorry.” Mon-El sighs.

“Look, Kara, why did you want to talk to me? I mean, I love sitting here pretending like we’re only acquaintances like the next person, but I know that’s not why I’m really here,” Mon-El quips, trying his best to keep back any hostility in his tone. He doesn’t blame her for not wanting to get back together with him or anything, but he doesn’t like to have his time wasted. 

“I’m . . . I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said the other night,” she confesses. 

“Yeah?” he quirks an eyebrow. Kara nods.

“Mhm. I . . . I’m not a fan that you didn’t tell me the truth about who you were. But I've thought a lot about it and I realized . . . I realized that it wasn't fair that I also didn’t take into consideration your view on it. Because you’ve been dealing with Daxam’s death in your own way, dealing with your past in your own way. I don’t know your whole story, and I certainly don’t know why you chose to forget your past. You deserve that at the very least. But just so you know, if you lie to me again over something as big as this, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Wouldn’t want any less of you,” Mon-El agrees, amused. But then Kara’s words settle in his mind. “Wait, does this mean . . . ?” 

“Get over here, you stupid Daxamite. I’ve really missed you.” Kara holds her arms out and he meets her grasp without hesitation, basking in the moment.

He missed her warm embrace, more than she’ll ever know.

“I really won’t hesitate to drop a mountain on you if you lie again. I’m serious about that,” she mumbles against his chest. Mon-El laughs, not because he thinks an empty threat, but because he knows very well Kara’s serious. 

“I’d rather that you would,” he agrees, placing a kiss upon her forehead. Kara offers him a small, sweet smile, moving to drape her legs across his lap and lie her cheek against the couch cushion.

“Alright, Mon-El of Daxam. Tell me your story, for _real_ this time,” she demands of him.

Mon-El’s never been one to deny her before, and he’s certainly not about to start now.

(Especially not with those blazing blue puppy-dog eyes staring back at him.)

**Author's Note:**

> Just to let you guys all know, chapter 2 will be on its way soon. I'm going to be going away for a week though, so I won't be able to work on anything while I'm gone. When I return I'll try to work on it, though!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
